


Don't Let Go

by naasad



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Congenital Amputation, Crack, Enjolras and Grantaire have terrible senses of humor, Humor, Implied Reincarnation, Little bit o fluff, M/M, Polydactyly, Triple Drabble, soulmate identifying marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 23:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16481438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naasad/pseuds/naasad
Summary: Enjolras' words aren't anythingthatspecial. The first thing out of anyone's mouth is about his hand.





	Don't Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> My friends are dorks.

People were always asking how Enjolras lost his hand. The answers varied, depending on his mood. It could be anywhere from “I got caught stealing bread in Medieval Europe” to “I touched a woman without her permission, so I did what the Bible says and lopped it right off” to “none of your business, now, is it?”

The truth was he was just born without it. He had what could reasonably pass as the very beginnings of a thumb, before it even sprouted from the hand, but aside from that, his arm just stopped at the wrist.

But he didn’t need help carrying in groceries,  _ Ferre _ . 

And his left hand worked perfectly for writing and typing,  _ Jehan _ .

And he could open his own damn water bottle,  _ Joly _ .

He didn’t care if people stared, but he drew the line at gawping.

He didn’t care if they guessed, they never guessed right, anyway. 

Not yet.

His soulmark said _“Congenital?”_ and he had no idea how to respond to that. Granted, he was used to questions about his hand being the first thing out of people’s mouths, but even right now -  after having had years to prepare - even with his paint-stained, messy-haired, dreamy-eyed soulmate standing right in front of him, he was tossed between  _ “What’s your name?” _ and  _ “What the fuck?” _

“What the  _ fuck’s _ your name?”

His soulmate smiled bitterly. “Fucking Grantaire, at your service.”

Well, that was that for good impressions.

Ferre was trying not to laugh.

“I’m your soulmate,” Enjolras finally said.

“I know,” said Grantaire. He held up his hand with its unusually broad palm and five little nubs - four on the pinky finger side and one on the thumb side. Polydactyly, unoperated for whatever his reasons. “I’ve got your hand.”

It was a terrible joke, just awful.

Enjolras laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, Friend A was just flat out unimpressed when Friend B made this joke, but more in the 'we don't share the same sense of humor and that joke could have been much better' way than the 'crossing a boundary' way, and we all know Enjolras loves his puns, so. This isn't too far above that.


End file.
